


Taking Vows in a Time of War

by misura



Category: Priest (2011)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's hard work, breaking up the railroads.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Vows in a Time of War

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _Priest/Priestess,_
> 
> If I could I would do all of this again / Travel back in time with you to where this all began  
> We could hide inside ourselves and leave the world behind / And make believe there's something left to find
> 
> We'll be miles apart / I'll keep you deep inside  
> You're always in my heart / A new life to start  
> I may be leaving but you're always in my heart
> 
> "Miles Apart" -Yellowcard (pooka_07)

"This is madness," she says. Her weapons are secure in their sheaths (she's checked three times now, twice that he's seen and once before) and her uniform is, as ever, impeccable.

"This is right," he says. There's a small new scar on his left cheek and a larger one under his robes, on his back. She wonders what it will feel like, to put her hands there.

"This is God's will," Orelas declares, and he is an older man now than he was six months ago - there is grey in his hair but still steel in his eyes, in his voice. They have proven him wrong, have shown to all the Cities that he has lied to them, and yet here he is.

Here they are.

Their wedding day.

 

[five months earlier]

It's hard work, breaking up the railroads.

 _A good way to build up our strength,_ he says, and as she looks around, she sees only dirty faces. Smiling faces. _To learn how to work together again._

She hasn't asked about the man with the black hat. The man who used to be one of them, and his friend. She has waited a long time already; she can be patient a while longer.

They all have scars and stories. Sometimes the two are related; more often, they aren't.

She didn't think she'd ever feel lucky, having found a job in waste disposal.

 

It's hard work, breaking up the railroads, but it needs to be done.

 _They used it once,_ she says. _Maybe they won't try again._

 _Do you really want to take that risk?_ he asks, as she's known he would.

Neither of them have ever really learned how to make small talk. It's a thing normal people do. It's an 'applicable skill' for people living safe, ordinary lives, and one they seem to take for granted. (She remembers colleagues, outcasts like herself and yet not like her, quietly talking behind her back.)

 _It won't be enough,_ she says.

He looks at her, seeing something else. Some _one_ else, maybe. _I know,_ he says.

The vampires will be coming for the Cities again, one way or another.

 _They need us to protect them._ They have already questioned everything else, but this one thing is too much a part of them to let go. They _must_ fight to protect people who fear them, who have rejected them and cast them out for being what they were trained to be.

 _I know,_ he says again. _And so we will._

 

[three months earlier]

She wakes in the middle of the night, muscles clenched, ready for action.

And this one night, this first night of many, _they_ are here, and she is back at the frontline, and it is just like old times come again, with all the fear and the glory and the fierce joy of battle and still being alive when the sun rises.

 

[two months earlier]

 _I can't,_ he's told her once, half a lifetime ago, and she understood, then.

Still, _can't_ isn't _won't_ and it definitely isn't _don't want to_. (She's cheating herself, thinking this way; she knows this. His vows are part of who he is, part of who she loves.)

She remembers the first war, a whole lifetime ago. He still had Shannon to return to, then - a chance at a family, or so he thought. Perhaps they should have realized that it would never happen.

Perhaps they should be grateful that this time, there are no more illusions.

 _What are we fighting for?_ she asks. _What will we have left, after this?_

 _The knowledge that mankind will survive,_ he says. _That one day, we will plant these fields with crops. That our children's children will live without fear._

_I don't have any children._

_Share mine,_ he says. _I think she'd like you._

There has been no news from the Wastelands for nearly three months.

_I'd like to meet her. One day._

_One day,_ he agrees.

 

[one month earlier]

"Monsignor."

The group of fugitives - of _survivors_ is desperately small. She is not surprised to find Orelas among them, only that anyone would think him worthy of respect, of being knelt for.

She remains standing, feeling the others' eyes on her. Noticing with a certain amount of satisfaction how they, too, refuse to kneel for an authority they have long since proven false.

To go against the Church is to go against the Church. _God_ is on their side. _God_ has never deserted them. _I will fear no evil, for you are with me._

"Forgive us," he says, the one of them who has knelt, is still kneeling even now. "We have failed you."

She feels her face flush, even though she's not sure if it's with embarrassment or with anger. They've fought, and fought well. They have lost many friends, while people like Orelas have done nothing.

"My son," Orelas says, his hand sketching a sign of blessing, of forgiveness. "There is nothing to forgive. It is we who have failed you."

"You - " someone says, half-choked with fury. (It's her, she realizes. Her voice. Her fury.)

"The Church has failed you," Orelas says, and his voice carries now. ( _This is a show,_ she thinks. _A play. Why are we going along with this?_ )

"The Church has failed you." Orelas looks around. "All of you. We have allowed ourselves to become complacent, to blind ourselves to the truth. No more. God has punished us for our sins, and with His mercy, we may yet overcome this terrible threat. Together."

She feels sick. It doesn't help that a part of her still wants to believe, to _belong_

"Thank you, Monsignor."

Orelas smiles down at him, at all of them. A father welcoming back his lost children.

She reluctantly decides it probably wouldn't do any good to punch him in the face.

"Monsignor. I have a request."


End file.
